01-16-2021, 08:01 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]In times gone by, Donovan once believed in love. What had he done so wrong to be hurt so bad? He tried to win her the old fashioned way. He was polite and kind, courageous yet vulnerable. Everything he did, every choice he made was for her benefit. He would do anything in the name of love, and so he did just that. But, he picked wrong. He made a mistake. When it came to Winifred Madison, perhaps love blinded Don right from the start. The bottom line was the fact that she would never love him back.
It was difficult to have a fresh start when the past lingered at the back of his mind, but nowadays he refused to try to think about Winnie. After all, that was what crazy people did. Linger on the past. He’d been hurt many a time but he was willing to fight for this fresh start. The real thing, this time.
He’d always see things and start to think ❝ Oh, Winnie would love this ❞ but then he’d have to remember that Winnie was no longer. That life was behind him, after all. A new beginning in the same old place. Perhaps this time around he’d find what he was looking for, without having to chase after it. Winnie was a girl that slipped through his fingers when she ran away from him. He could have continued to follow her to the ends of the world if he could — the things he’d do for love — but eventually the trail grew cold and she was considered gone to the world.
That would be what he’d tell people, anyway. The tragic hero who couldn’t save everyone.
Donovan Clark was elusive at best, somewhat suspicious and too good to be true. He was a true enigma, like a riddle that could not be solved, or a puzzle with a single piece missing. But, he was just doing what he could to become a better man — what harm could that do?
Smile resting comfortably on his lips, Donovan leaned against a wall outside of a small cafe as he watched an elderly man talking to a tween boy and a young girl. They were from Flintlock Lodge, Don could remember noting when they first arrived just before the festive season. Hands slid out from where he’d been resting them in his pockets before he wandered over to them.
❝ Cool… Sword you got there. ❞ He nodded towards the young girl who held onto a stick, the girl crinkling her nose up before exclaiming, ❝ It’s actually a gun! ❞ Brows raised, Don slowly going along with it with a slow nod of the head before the girl continued, ❝ We’re getting a real one when we go home. ❞ The young boy then shook his head before he said, ❝ No, Ida; I’m getting a gun, not you. ❞ He sighed before looking at Don as Don enquired, ❝ A gun? ❞ The young boy shrugged, ❝ My brother said that when the war is over, he’ll teach me how to fire a gun. ❞
A cock of a gun. The ringing in his ears as he ran through the woods. His throat was dry and burning with the way he wailed for Winnie’s name for hours in the night. The plea for her to come back to him. Their love died, and so she too had to go. The way he dreamed of her blood across his skin when he slept at night, the warmest of comforts.
Her memory was his fresh start.
Don blinked. ❝ Sounds swell. I guess I’ll leave you to it then. ❞ He cracked a smile, gently patting the elderly man’s shoulder before he turned and began to walk away, face twitching at a dream which felt so real it could have been a memory. ❝ Wait. ❞ Don stopped, lips twitching ever-so-slightly. This was what he'd been waiting for. Slowly he turned around, looking back over towards the elderly man as he then said, ❝ Are there any children their age around here? Anyone that they could befriend? ❞
❝ I'm sure there are. ❞
❝ Great. My legs... They're beginning to fail me. If you ever have the time, could you maybe find some friends for these two? I don't know... Maybe talk to their mothers and ask if their kids would like to play with dear Henry and Ida here. ❞
Eyes narrowing curiously, Don watched the man for a moment before he smiled. ❝ You can count on me. ❞
He'd do anything for a fresh start. Anything to start a conversation with a beautiful woman in the District.
It was difficult to have a fresh start when the past lingered at the back of his mind, but nowadays he refused to try to think about Winnie. After all, that was what crazy people did. Linger on the past. He’d been hurt many a time but he was willing to fight for this fresh start. The real thing, this time.
He’d always see things and start to think ❝ Oh, Winnie would love this ❞ but then he’d have to remember that Winnie was no longer. That life was behind him, after all. A new beginning in the same old place. Perhaps this time around he’d find what he was looking for, without having to chase after it. Winnie was a girl that slipped through his fingers when she ran away from him. He could have continued to follow her to the ends of the world if he could — the things he’d do for love — but eventually the trail grew cold and she was considered gone to the world.
That would be what he’d tell people, anyway. The tragic hero who couldn’t save everyone.
Donovan Clark was elusive at best, somewhat suspicious and too good to be true. He was a true enigma, like a riddle that could not be solved, or a puzzle with a single piece missing. But, he was just doing what he could to become a better man — what harm could that do?
Smile resting comfortably on his lips, Donovan leaned against a wall outside of a small cafe as he watched an elderly man talking to a tween boy and a young girl. They were from Flintlock Lodge, Don could remember noting when they first arrived just before the festive season. Hands slid out from where he’d been resting them in his pockets before he wandered over to them.
❝ Cool… Sword you got there. ❞ He nodded towards the young girl who held onto a stick, the girl crinkling her nose up before exclaiming, ❝ It’s actually a gun! ❞ Brows raised, Don slowly going along with it with a slow nod of the head before the girl continued, ❝ We’re getting a real one when we go home. ❞ The young boy then shook his head before he said, ❝ No, Ida; I’m getting a gun, not you. ❞ He sighed before looking at Don as Don enquired, ❝ A gun? ❞ The young boy shrugged, ❝ My brother said that when the war is over, he’ll teach me how to fire a gun. ❞
A cock of a gun. The ringing in his ears as he ran through the woods. His throat was dry and burning with the way he wailed for Winnie’s name for hours in the night. The plea for her to come back to him. Their love died, and so she too had to go. The way he dreamed of her blood across his skin when he slept at night, the warmest of comforts.
Her memory was his fresh start.
Don blinked. ❝ Sounds swell. I guess I’ll leave you to it then. ❞ He cracked a smile, gently patting the elderly man’s shoulder before he turned and began to walk away, face twitching at a dream which felt so real it could have been a memory. ❝ Wait. ❞ Don stopped, lips twitching ever-so-slightly. This was what he'd been waiting for. Slowly he turned around, looking back over towards the elderly man as he then said, ❝ Are there any children their age around here? Anyone that they could befriend? ❞
❝ I'm sure there are. ❞
❝ Great. My legs... They're beginning to fail me. If you ever have the time, could you maybe find some friends for these two? I don't know... Maybe talk to their mothers and ask if their kids would like to play with dear Henry and Ida here. ❞
Eyes narrowing curiously, Don watched the man for a moment before he smiled. ❝ You can count on me. ❞
He'd do anything for a fresh start. Anything to start a conversation with a beautiful woman in the District.
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I'M BURNING BRIDGES, I DESTROY THE MIRAGE
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》